Out of the Blue (Into a Blue Box)
by Katrina Kay
Summary: Supernatural/Doctor Who crossover: Dean Winchester's in yet another scrape after hustling pool, but a strange blue-eyed man in a police box rescues him and offers him a trip to Mars. (Also, Gabriel is Jack Harkness.)


_So I have become the Middleman_  
_The gray areas are mine_  
_The in-between, the absentee_  
_Is a beautiful disguise_  
_So I keep my footlights shining bright_  
_just like I keep my exits wide_  
_'Cause I never know when it's time to go,_  
_it's too crowded now inside._

_ { Bright Eyes }_

The night had started out okay. Strange how things went downhill so fast, Dean thinks as he hawks another gob of blood onto the filthy pavement, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he staggers upright. Fists pummel him from all sides, and he goes down to the mercy of boots – steel-toe, by the feel of them. A particularly well-aimed kick lands right on his kidney, and he swears through the pain. Not much more of this and he won't be getting up. He screws his eyes shut, trying to muster up the will to get up, but at this point he's pretty sure it's not going to happen.

Through the haze he hears this noise, a sort of v_worp vworp_ sound, but it's probably his brain shutting down, so he ignores it and concentrates on protecting his face. Last damn time he hustles pool at this place, one way or another.

"I'd stop that, if I were you."

When the blows stop, Dean cracks an eye open carefully and looks up. There's a man standing at the other end of the alley, the light from one of the few functioning lights glowing like a halo around him. He squints, trying to make out the man's face, but all he can see is a suit and tie and an enormous, billowing tan trench coat. Oh good, God heard his prayers and sent him a holy tax accountant to save him. It's his lucky day.

The goons chuckle, a few of them leaving Dean to lurch toward the newcomer, but whether or not the guy survives, Dean doesn't know, because the next blow knocks him out cold.

* * *

Dean wakes up slowly, through a haze he hopes is medicated. He's in some sort of control room, it looks like: there's a center console, and a ton of flashing lights, and he's lying in a stretcher that's tied to the control deck's railings while the holy tax accountant holds some sort of glowing pen thing over him.

"Whurzat?" Dean manages to say.

The man startles backwards, almost falling out of his chair. "Oh, I- I didn't know you were awake."

Dean tries to form a more coherent sentence and ends up at least being able to form sounds. So there's that.

"You're heavily sedated. Those men were about to kill you. They managed to inflict serious damage before I could stop them."

He's about to ask what happened to them when the guy seems to read his mind.

"They've been dealt with. You're safe."

Dean tries to sit up but finds that the room spins when he manages to raise his head a few inches, so he flops back down. Dizziness overwhelms him, but not before his eyes finally manage to focus long enough to see the stranger's face: dark, tousled hair; soft, plump lips; and huge blue eyes. _He's gorgeous, wait, what_, Dean thinks before he passes back out.

The next time Dean swims back up to consciousness, he's alone. His head feels less afloat this time, so he sits up slowly. A quick once-over reveals that he's mostly back to normal, except a tender right eye that feels like it's probably magnificently bruised and general soreness to be expected from getting the crap kicked out of him.

His shoes are nowhere to be found, so Dean pads barefoot over to the door, moving as quickly as he can. Based on how high the ceiling of this place is, he's probably somewhere underground, which is a bit creepy.

He yanks the door open then recoils almost instantly, flailing and falling over onto his ass. "Holy _shit_!"

At Dean's yell, the tax accountant reappears, shutting the door between this room and the dark, starry void of space outside.

"I should probably explain," he says with a hint of an apology in his raspy voice.

* * *

"So you're a Time Lord, and this is a, a TARDIS – and it flies through time and space – and you have a magic screwdriver." Dean's got his head in his hands, trying to process all of this. When he looks up, the Doctor is holding up the glowy thing again.

"It's a _sonic_ screwdriver, Dean."

Dean just stares at the blue light and lets his brain catch up. "And you don't have a name, you're just 'the Doctor'? Who doesn't have a name?"

"It's not that I don't have a name, I just don't…choose to share it." The Doctor gets up and goes to fiddle with some dials on a control panel, leaving Dean to throw his hands up in the air and follow him up to the platform.

"Right, okay. So, where the hell are we, right now?"

The Doctor studies another display and fiddles with a few more levers. "We're currently somewhere near M32, by the Andomeda Galaxy, sometime in the 45th century."

"Right, okay."

The Doctor finally stops fiddling to look at Dean again.

"You've already said that."

"Yes, thanks for pointing that out. So when do I get to home?" Sam's probably going nuts trying to figure out why the hell Dean hasn't called him. His brother worries like a little old lady, except his fears are probably a bit justified considering how many scrapes Dean's gotten into lately. Or always.

"Well, whenever you'd like." Something deflates in the man's (Time Lord's, Dean corrects himself) eyes. "Is there anywhere – or anytime – you'd like to visit before you go?"

"Dude, you don't owe me or anything, you saved my life. If anything, I owe you."

The Doctor worries his lower lip between his teeth, and then smiles a slow, cautious smile. "Then pick somewhere. I'll bring you back to the time and place you left after."

Dean finds himself smiling back, even while he's still trying to wrap his head around all of this. _Blue phone booth, flies through time and space, tax accountant actually some sort of alien. Right._ "Okay, just, can we make an hour or so later? I'd rather not go back just to have the crap beaten out of me again."

"A wise choice," the Doctor remarks, voice serious but eyes dancing with mirth.

* * *

The capitol of Mars, two thousand years after Dean's time, looks a lot like New York City, if New York was populated by a slew of alien species Dean can't even name. To his surprise, there's even a coffee shop on this street, to which he drags the Doctor.

"Dean, I don't understand, can't you have coffee at home? Why not try something different-"

"If you're gonna suggest I try that bug smoothie or whatever the hell that grey crap is, save your breath. I almost died, I want some coffee."

He can practically _hear_ the Doctor's eyes roll as the man follows Dean into the shop.

The place is crowded, and Dean's trying not to freak out too much about being near actual _outer space aliens_, so they stroll the streets, neon signs and strange squeaking, grunting dialects that he can only understand as English thanks to the TARDIS and hovercraft whooshing overhead under the giant dome keeping the red sands blown by hurricane force winds at bay.

Dean watches the Doctor sip at his coffee with a grimace and his own lips quirk up in a smile. "Dude, if you don't like coffee, you could've just said."

"I didn't know, I've never had it before."

"What? How? You look like you're about my age, and you travel _time and space_, how have you never had coffee?"

"I may appear to be about your age, but in Earth years I'm somewhere around…900?"

Dean very nearly snorts hot coffee up his nose. "Nine hundred- are you kidding me?"

The Doctor tilts his head to the side with a puzzled look. "No, why would I?"

"Never mind."

Dean takes the coffee from the Doctor, ignoring the squawk of protest, and double-fists the drinks. The Doctor pouts for a brief moment, then shoves his hands into the pockets of his trench coat.

"What did you do to those men I saved you from that made them want to hurt you?"

Dean hesitates, not really sure if he wants this guy to know what kind of lowlife he's saved, but the Doctor keeps studying him with that wide-eyed, intense look, so Dean shrugs and answers him.

"Look, I uh…I hustle pool, run drugs every now and then, that kind of thing, to make ends meet."

"Oh." The Doctor looks…disappointed, Dean thinks, and shame washes over him at the thought of disappointing this man.

"I used to bartend, still do every once in a while. I fix cars too. Never was the books and school type, that's more my brother's thing."

The Doctor perks up a bit at that. "You have a brother?"

Dean smiles at the thought of Sam. "Yeah, Sammy's a smart kid. Working his way through college right now, that's why I…" He breaks off, rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Kid needs all the help he can get, with our parents out of the picture."

"You two must be very close."

"Yeah, we are. Hey, what about you, any parents or kids or anything?"

The Doctor shakes his head and looks away, pain in his eyes. Dean reaches out, knuckles brushing the Doctor's sleeve, not sure what to say but instinctually reaching out to help ease that look away.

He's about to speak when he hears raised voices somewhere behind them. They turn to look back and see armed, angry-looking men – or Dean assumes they're male, judging by the beards over their virulently orange skin – staring right at them. The Doctor grabs Dean's arm and nudges him forward through the crowd.

"Friends of yours?"

"Not exactly. I may have failed to mention, when you said you wanted to see the people who lived on Mars in the future, that I am somewhat…prohibited from visiting Mars during this era."

"What?" Dean yelps as he's steered through hoards of creatures that make his head spin to look at. "Then why the hell did you bring me here?"

"It's the peak of the planet's timeline, right before the civil war, and I didn't think we'd be noticed. Apparently I was mistaken."

They make it back to the cargo area where the TARDIS is parked, the blue phone box in sight, when heavy footsteps sound behind them and a gunshot ricochets off the wall perilously close to their heads.

"Stop, by order of the Mars Order and Containment Unit!"

They both skid to a halt and throw their arms up in surrender. "What now," he hisses at the Doctor as they both turn to the officers.

"Just play along."

The unit reaches them, and a dozen weapons are trained right to their chests. "You are under arrest for violation of Code C Section 16, trespassing of an exiled being within the realms and territories of the Hosturian Empire. We have identified you as The Doctor, a Class 5 criminal entity. You and your companion will be escorted to the prison sector and detained indefinitely."

"Hey, wait, don't we have the right to remain silent or something?"

All eyes turn to him.

"Dean, yes, please stay quiet," the Doctor says to him before gesturing to his coat pocket. "I think you'll find you've made a mistake, if you'll just take a look at my identification. It's in my pocket."

One of the men – beings, whatever – rustles through the Doctor's coat until he pulls out a small leather ID case.

"I think you'll find that I'm actually Archibald Cravius, here to inspect the city's defenses at the request of-"

"This paper is blank! Take them to the cells!"

The Doctor blanches as they're dragged away. "I forgot the psychic paper doesn't work on Sirlakians."

"Any other bright ideas?" Dean asks sourly, trying to fight the panic of being manhandled to an elevator by large, angry, orange aliens. He'd been to prison once before, a few days for a minor misunderstanding between him and a barfly that had turned ugly pretty fast, but he has a feeling that this time won't be nearly as pleasant. "How the hell are we gonna get out of here?" he hisses, but the Doctor is silent, thinking.

Dean struggles against the iron-tight grip on his arms. "Hey, douchebags, lemme go!"

"Dean, just-"

"Cease your struggles, human, or we will be forced to sedate you!"

If anything, the threat makes Dean wriggle harder, instinct kicking in, but the sharp pain of a needle sinking into the meat of his neck makes him freeze up in horror before he passes out, yet again.

* * *

Dean surfaces back into consciousness in a room that looks something like Bruce Willis's apartment in The Fifth Element and is about as small. He groans and sits up, trying to calm the pounding in his head through sheer willpower.

Then he realizes the buzzing he hears isn't in his head. The Doctor is examining the walls of the room, the sonic screwdriver flashing blue as he holds it close to his face, his head tilting as he studies it.

"Please tell me your name isn't really Archibald."

"What? Oh, no, it isn't." He goes back to studying the screwdriver.

"You aren't the most talkative guy, are you?"

"Technically I'm not even a guy, as you put it. Time Lords are gender-less, but my current manifestation is male."

"O-kay. Well, then, now that we've sorted out that important piece of information, any ideas for getting us out of here, Doc?"

The Doctor shoots him a look Dean's seen a thousand times on Sam's face, known as Bitchface #45: Really, Dean, What Does It Look Like I'm Doing?

"If I can figure out the molecular structure and basic components of this cell, I may be able to rearrange the particles and get us out."

"How long was I out?"

"Uh, about two hours, why?"

Dean snorts. "Yeah, and we're still stuck in here, so any other bright ideas?"

"Provided this cell isn't made of wood, I should be able to get us out of here shortly. The screwdriver doesn't work on wood, I still don't know why, so don't ask me," the Doctor says, rushing to get out the rest when he sees Dean open his mouth to ask.

"And what happens if you don't get us out of here before the goon squad gets back?"

"Oh, they won't be coming back," the Doctor says as he splays a palm on the next section of cell wall and cranks up the sonic setting. "We'll be left to rot in perpetuity, monitored remotely."

"…I don't know about you, but I kind of have to, well, uh, _eat_?"

"I'm sure they'll provide food, Dean."

"That's really not reassuring."

"No, it isn't, is it?" The sonic screwdriver beeps, and a hopeful look appears on the Doctor's face but quickly fades. "Just a metal stud."

"You're telling me that thing is a _nail finder_, but can't get us out of here?"

The Doctor shoves the screwdriver into a pocket and sits next to Dean on the bed, slouching dejectedly. "It appears not. We'll have to think of something else."

"Well, unless you have any other magical construction equipment, we might be SOL."

The blank look he gets makes Dean raise his eyebrows. "Wow, you really don't get out much do you. Means Shit Out of Luck, dude."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, the Doctor twisting his fingers in his lap, until Dean jostles his shoulder and breaks the silence. "So, what the hell were you doing in that alley, anyway?"

"Huh? Oh, you mean, when I found you. I was trying to land the TARDIS about….four thousand miles away from there, actually. I was visiting an, uh, old friend."

The tone in his voice makes Dean grin. "She hot?"

The Doctor actually blushes. "She is attractive by human standards, but we aren't, uh…that kind of friend. She travelled with me for several years, with her fiancé, but eventually she wanted to return to Earth and start a family. I visit her from time to time."

"So you don't always travel alone, then? I mean, not that I thought I was special or anything, but I figured it was kind of a one-off."

There's a distant, thoughtfully melancholy look in the Doctor's eyes that doesn't sit quite right with Dean, marring the man's angelic looks with a blemish of sadness. "I've had many companions, Dean, and lost them all. Thankfully, most of them are still alive, but the ones who aren't haunt me." Those piercing eyes are on Dean's once again, hard and determined and bright, and Dean stops breathing. "I'll think of something to get us out of here, Dean, and I will return you to your time as promised."

"I believe you, man," Dean says, when he remembers to breathe. Another moment of studying one another has him feeling claustrophobic and restless, so he gets up and starts pacing, eager to stretch his legs and simply move for the sake of doing something.

Later, when he's snoozing on the bed, Dean rolls over and feels the hard press of metal and plastic against his hip, and an idea hits him like a freight train. He sits bolt upright, startling the Doctor where he sits at the foot of the bed, fiddling with his tie and looking like a puppy someone put out in the yard on a rainy day.

"I've got my phone, Doc," he manages to say, instantly awake. He scoots down the bed as he fiddles with the lock screen. "Shit, there's no service." He snorts out a bitter laugh, hope already fading. "What the fuck am I talking about, of course there's no service, we're on Mars-"

Before he can finish his sentence, the Doctor is clutching Dean's shoulders painfully tight and he's giving Dean a wide-eyed expression of epiphany. He looks like a character from one of the animes Sam likes to watch (the ones Dean watches don't have many men in them, and that's putting it politely, he thinks); Dean can almost see the guy's dark disheveled hair fluffing up, his coat billowing in a non-existent wind. Suddenly the Doctor leans forward and plants one on him, dry lips pressed to Dean's for a fraction of a moment before the man is pulling away with a giant grin and leaping to his feet, more energetic than Dean's seen him yet.

"Wha…" Dean's frozen in shock, mouth tingling, but the Doctor is rustling through his coat pockets, pulling out what looks like a walkie-talkie attached to some sort of leather strap with a triumphant huff.

"I'd forgotten about the communicator, but if he's linked, I might be able to…" The Doctor fiddles with the device until the round screen lights up pale green. He presses and holds a button, holding the device close to his mouth.

"This is agent Delta Oscar Charlie Tango, attempting uplink, agent Golf Alpha Bravo Echo. Request for transport and escort, sending coordinates now."

A few more button presses, and he switches the device off, slipping it back into his coat. "Gabriel owes me a favor. Let's hope he gets my message soon."

Dean's recovered enough from the shock of being kissed by this strange, intense man to answer. "Wait, who's Gabriel, and what was that thing?"

"It's a Time Agent communicator. Gabriel is a Time Agent, sort of. We're…old friends."

"And he's gonna come get us?"

"Hopefully, yes."

Dean looks around the bare cell. "Well, if we're going to be sitting around waiting, got a pack of cards?"

The Doctor gives him that head tilt again, but rummages around in his pockets until he pulls out a battered deck of cards. Dean grins at him and puts out a hand for them. "C'mon, sit down. I deal a mean hand of Texas Hold 'Em."

* * *

Halfway through their fifth game of War – which had followed several hands of Texas Hold 'Em and Go Fish, to Dean's chagrin – they hear muffled shouts outside their windowless cell. Dean's eyes meet the Doctor's, and they listen intently to crashes, more shouts, what sounds like some sort of laser gun from just about every sci-fi TV show ever, and eventually, silence.

They clamber to their feet when loud knocks clang against the door. "Hello, hello, it's fabulous me, come to rescue you. Might want to step away from the door for a moment."

The Doctor yanks Dean backwards by his coat collar and he lands on top of the man, sprawled in a tangle of limbs and the folds of that damn trench coat. While he's trying to free himself, the Doctor muttering apologies and both of them red-faced, the door blows off its frame and slams into the back wall in a cloud of metal dust.

"Jesus _Christ_!" Dean clambers to his feet.

"Not quite, handsome." The man standing in the doorframe is short, with wavy, dark blond hair, a lunatic grin, and some sort of gun in his hand. "Gabriel Harkness, rogue Time Agent, at your service." His eyes scan Dean's body, and his grin grows. "And who might you be, fair damsel?"

"_Damsel_? It's Dean, short stack."

The Doctor's managed to right himself and brush off his coat. "Hello again, Gabriel. If you could cease flirting for one millisecond of your existence, we should probably find the TARDIS."

Gabriel just rustles around in his coat for another gun and tosses it to Dean. "You know me, when have I ever stopped flirting? And, c'mon, have you seen Dean-o here? They don't make 'em like that anymore."

Dean catches the gun, spluttering. "Hey, standing right here, man!"

Gabriel just waggles his eyebrows and slides over to check the corridor for guards, gun at the ready.

"Coast is clear. Which way we headed?"

"The TARDIS should still be back in the cargo area where I left it. If it isn't, we may have to come back-"

"How about we get _out of here_ first?" Dean gripes, antsy that the guards he sees knocked out on the floor are going to start waking up while they sit here talking. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, an alarm sounds somewhere down an adjacent corridor.

"Sounds like a plan," Gabriel says quickly, and they take off down the hall as angry voices start to reach them from far too nearby.

Gabriel seems to know where he's going or at least where the map on his wristband is heading, leading them down more – thankfully empty – passages, away from the shouts and alarm sirens.

Their luck runs out about five minutes later.

"Shit," Dean and Gabriel say simultaneously, when the three of them burst through a door into what looks like a command center for the entire building.

They start to back out slowly, but of course they've already been noticed by one of the dozens of Sirklakians in the room.

"The escaped prisoners!" The orange bastard yells and points as Dean dives for the door controls, mashing buttons to no effect as the Sirklakians level their weapons at them.

"Doc, that screwdriver work on this door? 'Cause we're running out of time here!"

Dean turn away and raises his fists, spreading his weight into a defensive stance as he hears the already-familiar buzz of the screwdriver behind him. Gabriel has somehow managed to get his blaster out without being shot in the process, but there are too many for even both of them to take out.

"Just another few moments…" The Doctor murmurs.

"We don't have time, Doc, _now_!" Dean yells as the Sirlakians surround them. Gabriel and Dean shuffle back, spines pressed against the metal. Then suddenly the door whooshes open, and the three of them tumble back out into the hallway. The Doctor scrambles up, screwdriver glowing, just in time to close it, the pepper of laser fire pinging against the metal as they clamber upright.

"We gotta go!" Gabriel takes a second to look at his communicator, then takes off. "If we follow this hallway then take the second left, we should be able to go around the chamber and get the hell out of here."

To Dean's complete surprise, they manage to make it out ten minutes later with only a few laser singes on them after running into a particularly strategic unit. They take a moment to catch their breath and take off again in the direction of the TARDIS. Despite almost getting his head taken off by a few well-aimed blasts, Dean can't help the huge grin of exhilaration on his face as they dodge the crowds. His eyes catch the Doctor's, who returns his expression with a small smile that makes his eyes light up. Dean doesn't think he's ever actually _enjoyed_ running from people who wanted to shoot him; it's a strange feeling, actually enjoying something other than talking to his brother or their occasional visits.

The TARDIS waits right where she was left, and they sprint in, breathing hard as Gabriel slams the door behind them.

"Now _that_ was fun!" Gabriel exclaims.

"I don't understand your definition of fun," the Doctor replies, grumbling and straightening his tie.

"Dude, it's already on backwards, you're not gonna fix it like that." Dean undoes the tie, trying to ignore his proximity to the Doctor as he quickly reknots the fabric, smoothing it against the man's chest. "There, see? Better."

"If you're finished feeling each other up, we should probably blow this popsicle stand."

Dean chokes but collects himself, putting some space between himself and the Doctor. "Can't you, I dunno, zap out of here already? I mean, thanks for the help and all-"

"Wow, that's gratitude for ya." Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Figured I'd stick around with the Doctor for a bit, if that's all right with _you_, Dean-o."

Dean splutters again, but Gabriel just grins at him and hops up to the control panel. "So, let's get this baby back in the air. Places to go, right?"

The Doctor's eyes widen in alarm, and he turns away from Dean. "Gabriel, the last time you touched the controls, we ended up stranded for weeks on that minor moon in the Araxian system!"

"Well, get your butt up here, then!"

"I'll take you home, Dean. That is, unless…" The Doctor suddenly looks about five years old, like he might look down at the floor and twist his foot, shy and hopeful.

"Oh, uh," Dean rubs the back of his neck, hit by the realization that after this crazy day, he has to go home. Home to shitty gigs and probably more fights like the one the Doctor rescued him from…but also home to his brother, who needs him more than Dean needs – _wants_ – this adventure to not to end.

"I can't, my brother. But, uh, thanks."

"I understand." Dean can't help but feel the disappointment leaking through the contained, calm exterior of the man who joins Gabriel at the controls. He barely knows the guy, but he wants Dean to travel with him? It wouldn't work, it couldn't, and Dean has Sammy to look out for.

* * *

The TARDIS materializes on the same street, still dark but now quiet and empty.

Gabriel watches from the doorway as the Doctor and Dean step out onto the dirty pavement.

"Ah, nothing like 21st century Earth to remind me why I'm a Time Agent. I'll wait inside, lover boy."

The Doctor just glares as Gabriel shuts the door loudly, leaving Dean and the Time Lord alone.

"I know our trip was…eventful, but thank you for travelling with me."

Dean shuffles his feet nervously, hands in his pockets. "No problem, man. You saved my freakin' life, least I can do is risk it with you on the vacation from hell, right?"

He drags a hand from his pocket and holds it out. "Thanks again, Doc."

The Doctor just stares at Dean, blue eyes bright and intense as he studies Dean's face. He's about to draw his hand back when the Doctor's grips his firmly. "I'm glad I saved you, Dean. Your death would have been a terrible loss to this world."

Dean snorts in bemusement. "Yeah, doubt that. But , hey, at least Sammy'll be happy to see me."

At the mention of Sam, the Doctor pulls his hand away, curling his fingers into his palm. He nods once at Dean and climbs back into the TARDIS, turning once to look back.

"If you ever need me again, Dean, I believe Gabriel has entered my phone number into your phone."

"Huh? When?" The sneaky bastard must have stolen it at some point on the trip back. Sure enough, when he scrolls through his contacts, DOCTOR is entered along with a string of digits that looks nothing like a phone number. "Uh, sure."

The Doctor watches him for a moment more, hesitating, then closes the door to the TARDIS, leaving Dean to watch as the blue box slowly fades from sight.

* * *

Sam's dragged from his homework by the insistent vibration of his phone on his nightstand. It's his brother.

"Sammy? Hey, sorry I didn't call you earlier, but I've had the craziest freakin' night…"


End file.
